A Few Things She Needs To Clear Up
by SmileXDanceLove
Summary: I think it could only happen with these two." How did Ron and Hermione end up holding hands the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding? T for language. Semi-fluff.


**A/N: I've been toying around with this for awhile. I was always curious as to how they got to that position, where their hands were inches apart from eachother. So this is my take on it.**

It was strange that a place that used to make them feel so uneasy, that made them feel like they were constantly in danger, had suddenly become so safe. Then again, no place would be safe now.

They had escaped Death Eaters. They had taken over.

No one was safe. No one, however, was in so much danger as Harry James Potter, Hermione Jean Granger, and Ronald Bilius Weasley. But Ron was "sick in bed with spattergroit". Remember that detail.

It was so sweet and yet so grim at the same time. They were lying just inches away from eachother, the boy trying, but unsuccessfully(he's _always_ successful) to sleep, and the girl thinking, like she usually does. But fear and the danger of the unknown was looming over them like a big haunting shadow of a death eater. Or maybe twenty of them. Possibly guarding their leader. _That's_ scary.

His back was turned away from her and she was facing the ceiling. She could see the muscles in his back through his t-shirt, and thought, like usual Hermione behavior, the worst.

She needed to say this while she still could, when she knew they were safe, if only for a moment.

"Ron?" She didn't turn towards him, and her words came out in a nearly inaudible whisper. He turned to her and spoke with his eyes closed.

"Yeah?"

"I just need to tell you something."

"So say it already." It was his cluelessness that was part of his charm, and made her smile. Not a big toothy-smile, but a "thank goodness he won't stop being Ron" smile.

"I want you to know that I love you. Both of you guys." She was scared for a minute that he noticed the way "both of you" was an afterthought, but she didn't know that the only thing Ron could lie about was his feelings for her, and he masked his excitement and simultaneous hurt in the usual fashion. But then it registered in his mind why she was saying this.

"Don't think like that." He whisper-yelled, in fear that something was lurking in the nooks and crannies of the dark room.

"Like what?"

"Like you're gonna die tomorrow."

"I very well might. It's not worth beating around the bush. I'm a muggleborn, I'm running with a marked man and another one who's supposed to be lying in bed with a terrible illness searching for objects we have no information about...I'm scared. So fucking scared." And a tear fell down her cheek, like someone climbing down a building, only their hands were too sweaty. She knew she wouldn't have been able to say this to Harry. He would've told her to go back, or that she needs to be ruthless. Ron understood.

"Don't say that. Think like Mad-eye! Constant Vigilance!" She smiled a big grin, remembering the man with his roving eye who was so dedicated to his cause. Ron's impression wasn't too bad either. He was recreating their old times, patrolling during late night hours for prefect duties, just for a few seconds.

"But seriously, don't think like that. It scares me." Ron's tone had gone from comedic to deadly serious in only a couple of sentences.

"Why would it scare _you_?" She turned to face him, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Cause I don't know what I, or rather, we, would do without you." She almost thought he reciprocated her feelings for a second. The feelings that when asked about, she sticks her nose in the air and says 'Are you insinuating that I like him? That's absolute rubbish'. Even if the statement wasn't about him and her, but about their trio in general (although it was about him and her, but he would deny it), it still made her feel warm and gooey and loved. She was rather speechless. Much like Fleur Delacour, Ron didn't like awkward silences. So he continued talking. He was not, at all, trying to cover up that he might have indirectly said he loves her. Love? Why are we talking about Love? Psh. He doesn't like her that way. (Or that's what he wants you to think.)

"Besides, you cursed. That can't be good. It means you're considering writing a will and picking where to place your ashes."

"I cursed?"

"Yeah, you said fucking."

"Oh. Well, yes. I might be gone very soon."

"Whatever."

"Aruba."

"What?"

"Scatter my ashes in the ocean in Aruba. I went there once with my..." She couldn't finish.

"With your parents." The tears weren't clinging on her skin, but were falling freely. The salty taste in her mouth didn't make her feel any better, and he sensed this. Like he usually did, he changed the subject to comfort her.

"Can I tell you a secret?" She sniffed and wiped her nose.

"What?"

"I'm scared too." Her eyebrows scrunched together in that way they did when she was rarely perplexed.

"What? How?"

"What do you mean?"

"How can _you_ be scared?"

"Aren't I the one who's scared of a bloody quidditch match?"

"That's not what I meant."

"You're so loyal! And so...so...brave."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You didn't have to sacrifice your knight in first year. You didn't have to go into the Chamber of Secrets either. You've fought Death Eaters...twice. Willingly fought. It was always Dumbledore who said it was our choices who made us..."

"I guess, yeah. But I'm not as brave or talented as Harry, or brilliant like you..." He looked down like a sad puppy. Se squinted for about 6 seconds before opening her eyse and smiling brilliantly.

"I think you're amazing." He just looked at her, dry tears caked on her face. Seeing he was nonresponsive, she continued.

"You're just as courageous as Harry. Just as much of a git too," She grinned. "And you can be extremely brilliant when you want to be, It's all a matter of willpower...You're not a bad dancer either." They both reminisced on the day's events. It seemed so far away from where they were then: lying in an abandoned house while their best friend ran off clutching his forehead. "I was the one who stepped on _your_ foot, remem-"

"Thanks." He was the one staring at her now, and she was scared he was a ligilimens.

"For what, Ron?"

"For saying that. It means a lot." He looked so compassionate in that moment she wanted to kiss him right then and there, but settled for blushing and wondering how they got to that point in their conversation. Then she remembered and her small smile fell from her face like a china plate thrown onto a tile floor.

"If I...If I-you know...d-die...Don't find my parents," It was scary how this conversation was changing so easily, It was going from bad to worse to happy to worse again, and I think it could only happen with these two: The perpetual pessimist (relying on logic and wit and all that good stuff), and the dude who only has good intentions, and capable of amazing things when he wants to be. "Don't do anything to change their memories. As a matter of fact, maybe you should find them and make sure the charm is permanent."

"Herm-"

"And if it wears off before you can do anything...," The expression on Ron's face was becoming more and more of a grimace. The thought of Hermione dead was enough, but she looked so...so vulnerable, and so unlike herself. She should be finding solutions to problems, not dealing with the aftermath of could-be's and would-be's. It was her swan song: beautiful, but so wrong on her face. How could her willpower be gone in such a short time?"Tell them I loved them. Tell them what we were fighting for. And take care of them."

He took her hand in his, tilted her chin up to look at him, and decided, with the help of _Ways To Charm Witches_, that becoming a man would start now.

"Look at me," She took her eyes off of the cushion she was lying on and looked into his blue eyes that contrasted so beautifully with his hair. "Nothing is going to happen to you. To any of us. Now get some sleep." He had looked so powerful and uncharacteristically bossy, so she lied down. Her right hand was still gripped in his left. They both stared at the ceiling, imagining stars forming constellations.

"I'm going to give you a nickname." Ron had a crooked smile that, had she seen it, would make Hermione swoon.

"What?"

"A nickname. How about 'Her'? 'Hey, Her.' No, that was stupid, sorry. 'Mine'? No... That's too posessive."

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"No particular reason. Hermy!"

"Ugh."

"Yeah, that's terrible, you're right...Mione!"

"That's cute.

"Yeah, I like it," He clapped. "Mione. Mione. Mione." Each time he said her new nickname there was a different inflection and a different accent.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you hold my hand again?" She saw him twitch in her peripheral vision and was scared he wouldn't comply to her request. But he did.

"Sure."

"Goodnight Ron."

"G'night," She heard him yawn. "Mione."

They fell asleep smiling.

This was the calm before the storm.

Suddenly that shadow of Death Eaters didn't seem so big.

They knew they would be in that storm together, singing in the rain.

**A/N: I'm aware that I use way too many run on sentences, but that's just the way I write. :D**

**I always thought that by this moment in Ron's career as a teenage boy he would be able to comfort her and she would be willing to confide in him.**

**Please Read and Review!  
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